I Wish I Could Not Feel
by morningstar115
Summary: Written for a prompt from equine 14: Spock's injury in Beyond was serious, and he was in a lot of pain; McCoy promised himself he wouldn't let the Vulcan bleed out... But he failed. Possible spoilers for the first part of Star Trek: Beyond. Warning: Major Character Death.
1. Chapter 1

I Wish I Could Not Feel

* * *

 **Written for another prompt from equine 14.**

 **Warnings: Tragic, major character death, spoilers for some of Star Trek: Beyond.**

 **Note: I only saw the new movie once a few weeks ago, so if I mixed up any events or what little dialogue I borrowed from the film, I apologize in advance.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.**

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It was ironic, McCoy supposed, that he hadn't really accepted how serious Spock's injury was until the half-Vulcan started laughing.

Before that, he hadn't allowed himself to think beyond simple medical terms. The initial shock of seeing the usually-imperturbable first officer injured and gasping in pain had worn off quickly. He used his customary "you've got yourself injured and that pisses me off" manner while wrenching the jagged piece of metal from Spock's body and trying to cauterize the wound. The behavior was his best and most well-practiced defense against whatever situations he had to deal with as a medical doctor on a starship, be they merely annoying or terribly life-threatening, like this one.

Yet his confident, annoyed façade nearly shattered when Spock screamed in agony. The sound was more than frightening; it was gut-wrenching as the echoes bounced off the canyon walls.

He tried to pass it off with, "Well, they say it hurts less if you're not expecting it."

Still, it was little more than a rough patch job, if that. The half-Vulcan would, in all likelihood, start bleeding again before long.

They'd eventually set off in a random direction through the maze of rocks, hoping against hope to run across other survivors from the _Enterprise_. Or at least, McCoy was hoping; he had no clue what exactly might be going on in Spock's head.

 _Pointy-eared bastard._ Not that he meant it, this time.

He and Spock had never gotten along very well. Their general views differed, they bickered constantly, and took opposing sides in almost every argument. Once, when Spock had agreed with McCoy, the doctor had said that it made him, "very uncomfortable". Which it had.

But watching Spock limp along, hardly even bothering to hide his pain, made McCoy feel almost like he was the one who'd been impaled.

 _Seeing Spock like this just doesn't feel right._

It got worse.

They stopped in a sheltered spot to rest, and ended up having a conversation that touched on various subjects including the death of Ambassador Spock and regular Spock's decision to leave Starfleet and go to New Vulcan. At some point, Spock startled laughing at one of McCoy's comments.

"Oh, God, he's delirious." McCoy groaned, but inwardly he was terrified. _Spock is_ laughing _, damn it. Either he's way more human that I've ever realized or he's dying._

Spock, dying?

It was unthinkable.

 _Not going to happen. Not as long as I have anything to say about it._

He wasn't going to let the best damn first officer in the fleet die on some godforsaken planet in the middle of an unexplored nebula.

As they stood up (in Spock's case, with difficulty) and started walking again, McCoy muttered, "You're not going to die, Spock."

Spock didn't reply. _In his present condition, he might not have even heard me._

The wound had started bleeding again.

* * *

"Spock."

McCoy shook the injured man's shoulder. The wound had been bleeding steadily despite his best efforts to stanch the flow, and Spock's fever was bordering on spontaneous combustion; they had to find help, soon. "Spock, we need to go." He looked around briefly at the stone walls of the strange cave-like structure they'd spent the night in. "Come on, you green-blooded hobgoblin, wake up!"

Spock only stirred slightly and let out a strange whimpering sound.

McCoy felt icy fear cut through him. "Spock, wake up!" he shouted.

Much to the doctor's relief, Spock's eyes fluttered open. But the relief was replaced quickly by fear; Spock's dark eyes were glazed and blank, staring at nothing. A random stream of Vulcan words issued from his mouth in a voice that was no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Damn it, Spock! I can't understand you!" McCoy grasped the man's shoulders, ignoring the intense, fever-induced heat radiating through the blue uniform.

Spock's speech tapered off abruptly, becoming even softer and more broken. Standard words mingled with the alien tongue. "No…the ship…Jim…stop…Mother…so sorry…Nyota…"

" _Spock_!"

For a moment, Spock's gaze snapped into focus. Looking directly into McCoy's face, he said distinctly, "Death is not something to be feared, Doctor. It is a natural process."

McCoy laughed suddenly; it was just so undeniably _Spock_.

He stopped laughing when the half-Vulcan's eyes shut and his body went limp.

"No…" He felt frantically for a pulse and found none. "No! Damn you, Spock, don't do this!" His voice rose to a scream.

Then everything went very quiet.

 _No, no, no…_

The silence pressed in on him. He felt like he was trapped in ice; cold and yet painfully numb.

Other than shreds of dissipating disbelief, there was nothing but a dull sense of failure.

Once the numbness had faded, the first complete thought that occurred to him was _I don't know anything about Vulcan death rituals. Do they even have any?_ Even if he had known, it wouldn't make a difference. Nothing would.

McCoy felt the urge to move, to do something, but could not. He remained on his knees beside the body of one of the best men he had ever known. Because Spock was that.

Had been that.

Spock was gone. Another patient that McCoy hadn't been able to save.

He barely registered the tears that started running down his face. Spock would call such a reaction illogical. McCoy could almost hear the calm, analytical voice saying the words. Only, Spock would have to be alive to say it.

Right now, McCoy would've given anything for that to be possible.

And he found himself wishing futilely that he could not feel _._

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 **Reviews appreciated.**

 **equine 14, I hope you think I did an okay job with the prompt.**


	2. Chapter 2

I Wish I Could Not Feel (Part 2)

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 **So I know I marked this fic as complete, but it didn't feel finished. I got some encouragement to add some more to it, and therefore did so.**

 **Warnings: Mention of major character death and some angst. Oh, and mention of Spock/Uhura (if you're not a fan of that), but it's not much.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.**

* * *

He stood in the gully, his gaze switching rapidly between the three enemy ships that surrounding him.

So this was it. There wasn't a way out. Even if Spock had still been with him…

 _It's their fault. They're the ones who killed him._

Maybe they hadn't killed him directly, but they were part of the larger force that had attacked the _Enterprise_. They were the reason he was all alone on this strange planet.

They were the reason that at least one of his friends…perhaps all of them…were dead.

Useless as it was, rage roared to life within him, drowning out his fear. "COME ON, YOU BASTARDS!" Dr. McCoy screamed.

The ships began to close in.

And McCoy unexpectedly felt the strange tugging and dissolving sensation that came with being dematerialized by a transporter.

The fear came back, but it was the familiar terror of being converted into an energy pattern and back again. _I hate this!_ he thought automatically, as he always did.

But it was preferable to being blown to bits by hostile aliens.

When the lights cleared, the first thing he saw was the grinning face of James T. Kirk. "Bones!" the captain shouted happily. "You're okay!"

Glancing around, McCoy saw that he had materialized in a rather old-fashioned transporter room, and that Montgomery Scott was the one at the controls. Next to him stood Ensign Pavel Chekov. Both looked pleased to see him.

Jim ran up to the transporter pad and gripped McCoy's shoulders. "Well, Bones, I think it was a miracle that we found you, but I'm sure glad we did. Welcome aboard the U.S.S. _Franklin_."

"Aye, it's an old ship; I wasn't sure if the transporters could function well enough to bring you aboard." Scotty admitted.

"We couldn't have managed more than one at a time; something we are trying to fix so we can rescue the rest of the crew." Chekov added.

McCoy was still trying to adjust to the fact that he wasn't still in the gully with the enemy ships. "Who…who's here with you?" he asked hazily.

"Just us and this girl who's been here for a while…alien, name of Jaylah." Jim frowned slightly. "We think we may have figured out the location of some survivors…the _Enterprise_ crashed, Bones…but I was wondering; did you see Spock? Before you got to the planet?"

The memory of Spock's death that morning hit McCoy like a falling starship. _Oh, God, no…How can I tell Jim…I can't…_

"Bones!" Jim's voice sounded oddly distant. "Chekov, help me!" McCoy felt two pairs of arms reaching to steady him as he nearly collapsed, guiding him to sit on the step of the transporter pad. "Scotty, ask Jaylah to find the medical supplies she mentioned were aboard…"

"I'm not hurt." McCoy said dully. He tried to focus his blurry eyes and found himself staring directly into Jim's clear blue ones. The captain was crouched beside him, hand on his shoulder while Chekov stood worriedly on the other side and Scotty watched from in front of the transporter control panel.

"Bones, talk to me. What's going on?" _Jim looks so damn concerned_ …  
"Did you see Mr. Spock?" Chekov queried.

McCoy swallowed, his throat so dry it nearly choked him. "Yeah, I did." It came out as a whisper.

"When? When did you last see him?" By the looks of it, Kirk was aiming to interrogate him until everything came out.

 _What would Spock do?_ McCoy wondered vaguely. Of course, he knew the answer. _Spock would stick to the facts, plain and simple._ "We…we landed on the planet together." He paused, taking a shuddering breath. "He was injured. Badly."

"Did you leave him somewhere? If so, we can find him." Scotty said quickly.

McCoy clenched his jaw so tightly that it hurt. _Yeah, Mr. Scott, I left him. I left him in an alcove in a cave, walled in with rocks in the hope that some scavenger wouldn't find and eat his remains. Hell, yes, I'd say I left him somewhere!_

Seemingly sensing his distress, the others said nothing while he struggled to form his reply. "I…I couldn't…" He tried to keep his emotions under control… _Damn it, I'm no Vulcan_ …but despite his efforts, a couple tears managed to escape his eyes. "Jim, I'm sorry…I couldn't save him." It pained him to say it, but with the words came a small sense of relief.

Relief that vanished as Jim Kirk stood, walked over to the nearest wall, and slammed both fists into it with a anguished yell.

 _Spock was his friend, almost his brother._ Though Chekov and Scotty were staring, apparently unable to tear their gazes away, McCoy couldn't bear to watch Jim break down. He buried his face in his hands trying to block out the curse words the captain began to spew out in a vengeful stream.

* * *

They won the battle in the end, but it was a difficult victory.

With Jaylah's knowledge of Krall's base, they managed to rescue the other crew members. They managed to repair the _Franklin_ enough to get it off the planet. They managed to catch up with Krall and defeat him before he could destroy Starbase Yorktown.

While using annoyingly ancient medical instruments to repair Jim's damaged knuckles, McCoy made a resolution. He would not let the loss of Spock overwhelm him. Not until the battle was over.

He owed the former first officer that much.

Everyone else, even Uhura, seemed to make similar decisions when they learned of the half-Vulcan's death. Except for Kirk.

For the remainder of the fight against Krall, Jim Kirk was clearly fueled by reckless fury. McCoy and the rest of the command crew had seen that kind of murderous rage before: when Khan's actions had resulted in Kirk's death and Spock attempted to get revenge.

However, with the advice of his crew, Jim was able to make choices that, while risky, weren't so foolhardy that they resulted in everyone's death. Chekov, in particular, was a convincing voice of reason in the chaos of the fight for Yorktown.

McCoy kept his mouth shut, though. Jim hadn't said a word directly to him since the exchange in the transporter room and the doctor wasn't eager to start any more conversations yet. Not while there was so much at stake.

He wasn't thrilled when they came up with a plan that involved him and that clever Russian kid beaming aboard one of the alien swarm ships. But he remembered Spock, gritted his teeth and went through with it.

Together, Scotty and Chekov came up with some nutty scheme to use Jaylah's loud music and VHF transmissions to defeat the swarm. The only thing weirder than the idea was the fact that it worked.

Kirk ended up having a showdown with Krall in the starbase's ventilation system. As usual, he managed to save everyone.

Perhaps his anger helped in this case.

McCoy and Chekov, still in the alien ship, saved Kirk (barely) before he was sucked out to space with Krall and his bizarre weapon of mass destruction.

For a moment, as Jim lay on the floor of the craft looking up at McCoy, he looked like his regular devil-may-care self. "Nice flying, Bones." he said appreciatively.

"Thanks." McCoy smiled back.

Grinning cheerfully, Jim grabbed a communicator and hailed the _Franklin_.

His smile faded when it was Sulu who answered.

McCoy couldn't meet his friend's gaze anymore. Now that the battle was over, he fully expected to glimpse accusation in Jim Kirk's expression.

He didn't know if he could bear seeing that.

* * *

The small, out-of-the-way observation room was empty except for Dr. McCoy. He wanted it to stay that way.

Glancing distastefully over the magnificent starbase visible outside the window, he tipped back the bottle he held and swallowed another mouthful of whisky. He was getting closer to getting completely drunk, and was grateful for it.

All he wanted was to forget. And it was this or hypo-ing himself with something. Drinking was usually more pleasant.

 _Idiot…incompetent fool…you let him die…you should've done more…_

These thoughts ran through his head over and over again in an endless circle.

 _Spock's gone and it's all your fault._

The last he had heard, Uhura was in very bad shape over it and had become extremely withdrawn into herself. She had loved the pointy-eared bastard.

Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty had been spending a lot of time mourning together; in other words, they were also reminiscing and getting drunk, just in a group rather than alone.

And Jim…

McCoy didn't want to think about it.

 _Damn it, I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to save lives, not just stand by and let people die._

Some still-rational part of his mind reminded him that there was nothing he could have done, given the circumstances, but he'd stopped listening to that part of him a long time ago.

 _It's my fault. I should've died on that planet, not Spock._

It had been a couple weeks, now. Plans were already in place to construct another _Enterprise_.

 _A ship which I will not be on._

He was planning on drafting his resignation whenever he finally got sick of drinking himself into unconsciousness.

Speaking of such, he was just about to take another mouthful of alcohol when the door behind him opened. He didn't turn around, not even when the new arrival said quietly, "Bones." Then there was silence.

McCoy took another gulp of whisky. _Damn it, kid, if you want to chew me out, do it now and get it over with._

Jim Kirk did not do so.

There were chairs in the room, but McCoy was sitting on a low step down to an open viewing area. Jim sat down next to him. "Bones, as strange as it is for me to be the sensible one, I'm telling you that you need to stop this."

"Stop what?" McCoy turned slightly to glare at the younger man.

Jim made a helpless gesture with his hands. "This. Drinking. Blaming yourself."

"Who said I was…"

"Damn you, Bones, I know you are. I've done it enough times myself."

That shocked the doctor into silence for a minute. Slowly, he lowered the bottle to the floor. "Fine, I am blaming myself. Because it's my fault."

"Your fault? Is it really your fault that Krall attacked us? Your fault that the Enterprise went down? Your fault that Spock was too badly injured for anyone…not just you, Bones, anyone…to do anything about it?" Jim was shouting now. "I hate to go all _logical_ on you, but that just doesn't make any damn sense, Bones! If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, because the safety of the ship and crew was my responsibility, not yours!"

McCoy laughed bitterly. "When did you grow up, kid?" Then, angrily, "You didn't see Spock die, did you? You don't have to live with the guilt of knowing that you did your best but wishing that you'd done more! You didn't have to tell your best friend that his most loyal officer died because you weren't good enough to save him!" He stopped, breathing heavily. However, he felt a strange sense of release as the words stopped pouring out of him.

Jim didn't answer right away. When he did, he said softly, "They found his body, Bones. The other starship that went to the planet to look at the wreckage…They're bringing his body back now."

McCoy looked down at his hands. "I guess we can finally have a funeral."

"Yeah." They stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching the distant figures on the starbase's many interlacing strips of city. "They're giving me the new _Enterprise_."

"Naturally." McCoy shifted uncomfortably. "Who…who is going to be the first officer?"

"I'm still working on it. But…no matter who gets that position, I'm going to need a chief medical officer."

McCoy turned to meet Kirk's unwavering gaze. "Jim, I…"

"Just listen." Jim took a deep breath. "Did you know that Krall was actually Balthazar Edison, former captain of the _Franklin_? You heard? Well, he said that conflict makes us strong, and unity makes us weak. I don't believe that." Shaking his head slightly, he continued, "I've just lost one of my best friends, Bones. I don't want to lose another."

McCoy looked out at the stars barely visible beyond Yorktown's translucent spherical barrier. "He'd be giving us the eyebrow over this illogical, emotional discussion, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess he would be."

After a moment, McCoy reached out and rested his hand on Jim's shoulder. "All right, Jim. I'll join you on the rest of your bloody five-year space mission. But as your CMO I'm ordering you to get more rest before you do embark on it. You look terrible."

It was true enough; Jim was still slightly bruised from his confrontation with Krall and had dark circles under his eyes from not getting enough sleep. But his grin was almost as lively as ever. "And as your captain, I'm ordering you to lay off the alcohol. I'm a big fan of it, as you know, but…you're just going overboard."

"Okay, Jim, I'll try to limit it. Eventually. Maybe when they finish that new starship and I actually have to be on duty."

Jim chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, Bones!"

McCoy managed a small smile in response.

 _It's going to be one hell of a road to recovery. But Spock would want us to move on, wouldn't he?_

True enough. They'd recover and carry on, as Spock would've found it logical for them to do.

But they would never forget.

* * *

 **Okay, so it's a little more than what was asked for. I couldn't help myself.**

 **Also, I wasn't certain about writing Kirk a little more mature than usual, but I felt that it fit in this situation.**

 **Reviews appreciated (and thanks to those who reviewed on the first chapter).**


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